


Tents Make Good Kindling

by Ponaco



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian hates the cold. Rawley Trevelyan wants to make it up to him. (Here there be fluff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tents Make Good Kindling

Dorian hated the cold. He hated the deep, wet snow that soaked through his boots and froze his legs nearly to his hips. He hated the biting wind that tore through even the thickest of wool cloaks and stung his eyes until they watered. Most of all, in the moment, huddled under a heavy bear skin in his tent he hated the sputtering, useless iron stove that seemed unwilling to throw out anything even slightly resembling heat. He leveled a glare at the offending stove, hoping his resentment alone was enough to make it work properly. It wasn’t and his hatred grew even more.

“Kaffas! Close the flap!” Dorian cried, retreating further under his blanket as the Inquisitor tore open the door to his tent and then proceeded to struggle to close it properly.

“Sorry,” Rawley said, shaking the light cover of snowflakes from his hair.

He turned towards Dorian, all apple-cheeked and sheepish smiles. Dorian attempted to hold onto his anger in spite of the flutter that grew in his chest at the sight of him. The young man had the sometimes irritating ability to turn even the most foul of Dorian’s moods with just a smile. Rawley moved over to the stove, squatting down in front of the iron contraption. He pulled off his gloves with his teeth and carefully opened the front door.

“You let this burn down to embers,” he said, sliding in another log before sending sparks of fire from his fingertips.

“That stove is a useless relic,” Dorian grumbled.

“Seems all right, now,” Rawley said, holding his bare hands out to test the new rush of heat.

Dorian continued to grumble, peering out from under his blanket as Rawley began to shed his outer layers and pry off his snow-covered boots. Resolved to cling to his foul mood as long as possible, Dorian relented the smallest of smiles as Rawley struggled to pull off his shirt. A few undignified flails of his arms later and the shirt landed in a pile on the ground. Dorian snapped his fingers and moved his hand in a small circle.

“Give us a turn then,” he said, flashing a wicked grin at the instant blush that flared across Rawley’s face and down over his collarbone. “Something in the way of a shimmy perhaps?”

The blush deepened further only increasing Dorian’s desire to trace every inch of flushed skin with his mouth.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Rawley replied around a nervous chuckle, attempting and failing to smooth out his hair.

“Oh, I beg to differ. I have seen you move with undeniable grace,” Dorian said, fighting back a laugh when Rawley tripped over his boots. “Although, perhaps grace is fleeting?”

“Scoot,” Rawley insisted, his ears bright red with embarrassment.

He chuckled quietly and slid beneath the blankets. Now firmly pressed against Dorian’s side he moved his hand under the bottom of Dorian’s shirt to rest against his bare chest. The added warmth flared in an instant, drawing a content sigh from Dorian’s lips before he could quell it. The heat started from Rawley’s wandering fingertips and snaked across Dorian’s skin, warm to the touch like a sudden burst of sunshine.

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked, as the heat spread through his body to the tips of his toes.

Rawley craned his neck to smile up at him, his eyes red as coals. “I’m warming you,” he said.

Dorian could count on one hand the few, rare times in his life when he was struck speechless. It was an unusual and almost frighteningly unfamiliar sensation that seemed to happen more frequently around the man currently pressed against him. Rawley’s smile faltered at the corners as the silence stretched further.

“I thought…well, since it’s my fault you’re out here and I know how much you hate the snow, the least I could do is keep you warm at night,” he said, curling his fingers against Dorian’s chest. “If you want…I mean, if you’d rather be alone…”

“I most certainly would not rather be alone,” Dorian said, finding his voice in an instant. “This is the first time in days that I can actually feel my toes. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Outside the tent walls the wind and snow howled and somewhere across the long, broken stone bridge a dragon bellowed into the night. The press of searing, hot hands against his skin and the occasional fleeting kiss was enough for Dorian to let go of his anger and forget the cold that waited just beyond their blankets. He rolled onto his side, intent on getting a proper kiss.

“I am sorry,” Rawley said between kisses. “I know you would rather be back at Skyhold with your books and…”

“And stoves that work,” Dorian added with a smile and a press of his lips beneath Rawley’s right ear. “Although, I can’t say that I blame you for bringing me along. A mage as talented as I am is hard to come by.”

“Right, of course.”

The lie was as obvious as any Rawley ever attempted; it waivered at the edges and ended with darting eyes and a crooked smirk. Dorian pulled back from a distracting kiss, narrowing his eyes on his easy target. Pushing up on his elbow he leveled his suspicions with one heated gaze.

“Are you saying my magical prowess is not why you dragged me to this frozen wasteland? Because I will have you know…”

“No, no of course. I mean, yes, you’re quite talented but that’s not…what I mean to say is…”

“Your way with words astounds me,” Dorian grumbled, earning a pout for his troubles.

“What I meant to say,” Rawley replied, setting his jaw in a stern line. “Is that, of course you are powerful and there isn’t anyone else I would rather have at my side during a fight,” he added, his stern resolve quickly faltering under another flash of a blush across his face. “I…I knew this campaign would be difficult and…and I didn’t want to be away from you for that long,” he admitted with a quiet sigh. “It was selfish.”

He was speechless once more, left wide-eyed and mouth agape. The sensation fluttered beneath his ribs and sparked like pinpricks across his skin as the silence grew and he failed to find any words to fill it. A sudden, compulsion to return the favor warmed his skin and set a smirk on his face. Dorian moved over until their chests were flush against one another. A teasing roll of his hips and firm press of his mouth left Rawley looking confused. Another kiss led to wandering hands and a trail of kisses that ended with the brush of teeth against Rawley’s throat.

“Not…mad then?” he asked, a small gasp mixing with the howl of the wind outside.

“Oh, furious,” Dorian replied coyly, intent on leaving a mark with the next press of his mouth against skin. “You’ll have to work extra hard to keep me warm,” he murmured.

“I might be able to do something about that,” Rawley said, a chuckle rumbling in his chest at the tickle of Dorian’s mustache against his neck.

“Might be able?” Dorian said. “Tsk, tsk that just won’t do.”

His wandering hand found purchase at the waist of Rawley’s smallclothes. Dorian traced his thumb of the curve of Rawley’s hip before inching beneath the cotton at a maddening slow pace. He inched away when Rawley lifted his hips ever so slightly in hopes of encouraging further exploration.

“I might be able to help you,” Dorian teased. “Tell me, my Darling. Does this make you think warm thoughts?”

The slow slide of his hand beneath Rawley’s smallclothes brought a brilliant flush of color to the other man’s skin. It pulsed like a heartbeat with every stroke of Dorian’s expert hand, flashes of red and orange that illuminated his chest and encouraged the mage to kiss every dip and curve along his ribs. Rawley fought to keep his voice low, the thin canvas of the tent affording them the mere illusion of actual privacy. Dorian moved his mouth lower, earning a less than quiet ‘Maker, Dorian,’ for his troubles.

“Is this helping?” Dorian asked, a teasing smirk crinkling at the corner of his eyes before he lowered his mouth once more.

“Yes…Dorian…yes…helping,” Rawley murmured, struggling to form a proper sentence as Dorian’s mouth encircled him.

Heat thrummed liked a furnace from every inch of him Dorian touched, the bitter cold of the day seeming like some horrible, distant memory as sweat beaded across his skin and slid down his spine. Quiet moans of encouragement sounded from beneath him; the occasional pass of searing fingers through his hair and down the nape of his neck pulling a pleased sound of his own from his throat. A barely muffled cry of Dorian’s name and a buck of Rawley’s hips left Dorian with a smug grin of satisfaction. He lifted his mouth and gently kissed the inside of Rawley’s thigh.

“Well, then I dare say…fire!”

Instinct took over in a rush of ice and cold, the crackle of the spell meeting the flames with an angry hiss of steam. The charred remnants of the canvas directly above them sagged and flapped in the wind, snow falling down into the tent from an ink-black sky. Dorian sat, straddling Rawley’s hips, snowflakes clinging stubbornly to his dark hair and sweat-dampened skin.

“Sorry,” Rawley said, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a flame-red blush coloring his ears.

Dorian shook the new blanket of snowflakes out of his hair and let out a dramatic sigh. “You’ll simply have to try even harder to keep me warm tonight,” he said, stretching out alongside him under the bearskin.

“That’s never happened before,” Rawley insisted, burrowing in under Dorian’s chin. “I can fix it…go grab some more canvas, or…”

“Don’t you dare move,” Dorian replied, wrapping an arm around him. “I don’t quite enjoy being apart from you either,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.


End file.
